


My courage is roaring like the sound

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [98]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shmi II is as much Jade as she is Skywalker (not EU compliant)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My courage is roaring like the sound

Sometimes Shmi wishes she didn’t have such curly hair. She wishes it was fine and smooth with a slight wave to it – like mom’s. Mom has such beautiful hair.

But she knows dad and mom ( _and Aunt Leia_ ) like it the way it is because the curls remind them of grandmother.

Still, Shmi hates how wild it gets.

When most of her hair is tied back and wrapped up to prevent it from snagging on anything in the cockpit, the hair on the top of her head is free to do whatever it chooses. And there’s nothing Shmi can do about it.

Removing her helmet after practice only makes it worse.

Today, the curls dance all around as she jumps up and down with Myri, celebrating their flight test scores.

“Hey, spring-head! Maybe next time you wouldn’t mind giving the rest of us a little more room to fly!”

She flinches. There is it. The reason her moment wasn’t going to last.

“Well, maybe if you paid closer attention to Master Siena, you wouldn’t have problems using the Force to navigate around the better fliers.”

A chorus of ooos arises from the rest of the junior pilots.

Dev opens his mouth for a comeback, but never gets the words out.

“Dahl! Skywalker! Report to my office!”

This level of the Academy is not associated with the military, but dad says General Antilles has trouble keeping regulations out of flight instruction classes, so Shmi stands at attention ( _sort of_ ).

“I’m having to call the two of you aside too often; this the last time. Either grow up or get off my hangar deck.” He shakes his head disbelievingly, “You two are Jedi padawans, I don’t know why I have to keep lecturing you about not picking fights.”

Shmi and Dev shoot a look at each other. That’s just it: between the Academy and the Temple they see too much of each other.

Competition comes naturally. One of them has to be better.

“You’re dismissed.”

Shmi finds Myri just outside with her sister. Dev stalks by to find his friends.

“So how pissed was dad?” Syal asks.

“More disappointed than mad – this time,” Shmi shrugs.

The Antilles girls laugh. The general’s been saying it’s the last time since their fourth or fifth – Shmi already lost count – offense of the ‘no fighting on the hangar deck’ rule.

Besides it’s not like she and Dev have gotten into any physical fights ( _they save those for the sparring arena_ ).

“I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with _him_ for another week,” Shmi jerks her head in Dev’s direction.

“Oh that’s right!” Myri exclaims excitedly. “You’re going on your first off-world mission!”

Shmi couldn’t be more excited. It’s just going to be her and Master Seddwia. They’re heading to the Outer Rim to do some investigation into some relatively harmless conartists. There’s a chance for some action – not much, but she’s so ready to get out there.

Of course, after this, mom and dad might not let her. If mom had just let dad teach her how to fly, like she wanted, then she wouldn’t have to see a certain other padawan so much and she wouldn’t have this problem.

But then she wouldn’t spend nearly as much time with Syal and Myri.

Caught between gratefulness and annoyance, she huffs and wonders how much sway her parents really have over her training with Master Seddwia.

\----------

Plucking absently at the controls of the ship, Shmi broods. She thinks about taking off. Mom would probably be mad; she barely lets dad touch the steering, let alone Shmi.

The past is a tricky subject in the Skywalker and Solo households. Parts of it are an open book to the galaxy. Parts of it they keep buried deep amongst themselves, living with the unspoken rule that what’s done is done.

It’s not new for them, but the hidden truth hurts.

Shmi knows who’s coming before the cockpit door opens. She stops fiddling with the dials and curls her knees into her chest, feet on the seat.

“Go away,” she says sharply before mom can rest a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Shmi, you have to let me explain.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Shmi –”

“Go away!” she practically yells, but her voice cracks, choking back a sob. “You’re a hypocrite! You hate grandfather for everything he did under the Emperor’s orders, but you did it too –”

“It was completely different –”

“You did it too!”

She can’t quite – no, doesn’t want to – believe it. But it fits too well. Mom’s past is one of the things they never talk about.

Forcefully, “Is it true? Is it?”

Same old mom, she doesn’t even flinch, “Yes. I served as the Emperor’s Hand."

Eyes brimming with tears, Shmi asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The question hangs heavily in the air, like any answer mom has to give won’t be good enough.

“Because I didn’t want you to hate me the way I hated my parents.”

Time stands still. Shmi is stunned. Mom does not talk about her family. Not ever. Not without prompting. And even then the conversation is always short.

Then mom does something Shmi has never seen her do: she cries. Shmi looks away, she cannot bear to see mom break. The mere thought of it is everything mom isn’t.

“I’m offering explanations, Shmi, not excuses. Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer them.”

Despite everything, anger still presides.

“How was what you did any different than grandfather?”

“Your grandfather had a choice between serving the Emperor and serving the Jedi. He chose wrong. I was given a choice between service and death. I guess I picked wrong too.”

“And you hate him for that?”

Holding in hate, goes against everything she’s ever been taught. How could dad or Ahsoka let mom carry it inside her?

“No. I hate him for trying to kill me.”

Shmi wants to say something, but the words turn to ash on her tongue, “Mom…”

Shaking her head, encouraging Shmi to go on, “Next question.”

“What exactly did you do for the Emperor? Master Seddwia didn’t say very much before she realized I had no idea what she was talking about.”

“I was an assassin, but one with a connection to the Force which he couldn’t sever so he used it to string me along. He made me promises he didn’t ever intend to keep. He tortured me when I failed him. He kept me under his control because he could.

“I didn’t think I could feel anything but hate for a long time because of him.”

Her tone is level, her expression calm. It makes Shmi uncomfortable to see this is how mom has come to terms with it. Shmi doesn’t think she could ever put it behind her like this.

“When did you become –”

“The Emperor’s Hand? It wasn’t long after I ran away from home. That damned crew had no idea what they were getting themselves into…”

Mom’s thought trails off.

Shmi shudders to think what became of them and what other things were done at the Emperor’s command – the deeds carried out by mom. “How many people did you kill?”

“Shmi…” mom’s voice is horse; she’s holding back. She’s avoiding the question.

Temper rising again, “How many people did you kill?”

“What does it –?”

“You don’t even know, do you? You have no idea how many lives you’ve cut short!” Sharply turning away, “Leave me alone!”

Mom exits silently; Shmi barely knows she’s gone.

\----------

Two and a half weeks. That’s exactly how long it’s been since Shmi last spoke to mom.

Conflicting missions aid in her attempt to stay as mad as possible. She and Master Seddwia took off nearly a day afterwards. When they came back, mom was prepping for flight.

It’s killing her.

And dad knows it.

Neither of them are eating. R2 whistles in the other room, making the only sound in the whole apartment. Shmi pushes her food around her plate; dad watches, concerned.

She doesn’t offer any explanation, so dad guesses.

“I’ve killed countless people too.”

“That’s different. You blew up the Death Star. Mom killed people on our side.”

“Our side? Funny, I didn’t realize you fought for the Alliance.”

Annoyed, “You know what I mean, dad.”

“ _Our_ side,” dad turns the phrase over in his head. “You know, you’re not the first Skywalker to get mad at your mom for killing people, and _that_ was when she was on _our_ side.”

Shmi’s brow knits. There have been times, not many, when Shmi thought dad would be mad at her, but he never was. Dad doesn’t get mad.

“It was in my defense that she killed him too.”

“Why would you be angry with mom for that?”

“Because I was afraid – afraid she was slipping back into who she was before I knew her. But that’s not the point, Shmi. We avoid killing if we can. We don’t rejoice in it when we do, it doesn’t matter whose side they’re on.”

The Jedi Master in dad is in full form today. Shmi doesn’t want the Jedi Master, she wants dad.

She wants dad because she doesn’t have mom. She wants dad because he’s good at soothing away her troubles. She wants dad because she’s feeling exactly like he did when he found out the truth about grandfather: betrayed and alone.

Why does he have to be so insistent that forgiving mom is the right thing to do? Can’t she be stubborn and mad half a week more?

“Can’t you be on my side on this? She should have told me years ago.”

Dad sighs softly, “I tried to tell myself that. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru both knew, why didn’t they tell me?”

“They were trying to protect you,” she answers automatically then blinks.

Just like mom. Mom was trying to protect her.

“Come here, kiddo,” dad opens his arms wide for Shmi to curl into. “Your mom only acted out of love. She never meant for it to hurt you.”

With her head pressed against his chest, Shmi can hear him swallow the lump in his throat.

The thumb of his right hand unconsciously rubs her upper arm in small strokes.

( _She remembers the first time she realized it was synthetic. She spent hours turning it over, examining it from every angle._

_Dad laughed every time she lifted his whole arm above her head to see the underside, searching for flaws._ )

He’s thinking about grandmother. He’s thinking about mom’s strained relationship with her parents. It makes her sad, dad never knew grandmother and now he’s worried this estrangement from mom will last forever. That Shmi will just be another Skywalker missing a mother.

She feels it all in the Force ( _as much a gift from mom as it is from dad_ ).

“I couldn’t ever hate her. I just –”

Unable to articulate the mixture of emotions she’s been feeling, Shmi never finishes the thought.

Dad squeezes harder, “Why don’t we go to Naboo? You’ll feel better after some time at the lake and your grandmother loves it when you visit.”

When mom finds them there after a few days time, she approaches tentatively. Shmi makes the last leap across the gap between them and is surprised by the intensity of mom’s response.

She doesn’t know how it only just occurred to her: Jade’s Fire is more than mom’s ship. It’s the fierceness with which she feels.

\----------

“Why?”

Teekon grimaces, “You’re Master Skywalker’s _daughter_.”

“And that has anything to do with anything because…?” Shmi is livid. Teekon obviously likes her – Bee’s been telling her for ages ( _she’s only a year older than her, but Bee is already far more advanced in matters of the heart_ ).

No, it has to be because he’s friends with Dev. That’s why he can’t admit it, she’s convinced.

“It’s intimidating!” he insists. No more intimidating than chasing down a few escaped prisoners, which is what they were doing until the trail went cold.

Besides it’s not dad who should be intimidating to Teekon. It’s her. She should be the one who makes his palms sweat and his head spin. If he likes her, who her dad is shouldn’t matter.

She takes Sam’s approach to dropping the subject, “Ugh. Never mind. Forget I asked.”

She stomps back to the rendezvous alone. Set and Pres already wait, apparently unsuccessful.

“What’s the matter?”

Ordinarily Shmi wouldn’t snap at Set, but she’s pissed, “Boys are idiots.”

The boys exchange a look and Pres takes a step back. Set adopts his Big Brother air and drapes a protective arm over her, “Take it from a former idiot: they get better.”

“When?”

“Depends on the idiot.”

Shmi was hoping for an exact answer, but she guesses that it really _does_ depend on the boy. Pres was an idiot until a few years ago. And then again, mom teasingly calls dad a stupid farmboy, and Aunt Leia refers to Uncle Han as a nerfherder.

Either they grow out of it or they don’t. Shmi has a sneaking suspicion Dev Dahl is one of those boys who will be an idiot forever. She hopes Teekon isn’t.

“I don’t remember you ever being an idiot.”

“You were way too young to realize it.”

Set gives her shoulder a squeeze, reminding her how little she is compared to him. This is one of those rare times she’s glad of their sixteen-year age gap.

Never once has she envied Sam and Bee for their relationship with Pres because Set has always been her protector. She never has to put up with his nonsense or fight with him over little things like whose turn it is to clear the table.

She wonders if he ever had spats like that with his older brother then feels bad when she remembers how things ended between them.

_His loss_ , Shmi thinks.

She hopes she’s been as good a little sister as he’s been a big brother.

Master Seddwia returns next with two of the prisoners in tow. Then Teekon.

Wringing his hands nervously, “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure it’s not too intimidating?”

Set prods her in the back and she follows Teekon so they’re out of earshot, willing to give him a chance to prove he won’t always be an idiot. He begins, “Look –”

“No. You look. I like you and I’m pretty sure you like me, so just go on a date with me. It’s not like my dad’s going to come with us and –” Shmi’s rant is cut off. Teekon’s kissing her and her eyes are wide with surprise. The initial shock fades away and Shmi kisses back.

“I do like you. And I will go on a date with you.”

She thinks he’s about to kiss her again, but his master returns with the last escaped prisoner and they prepare to leave. Teekon’s fingers lace between hers for the flight home.

Or that’s what she hopes will happen. But it doesn’t.

When Teekon returns he ignores her.

Shmi takes it back: boys are idiots and nothing will ever change that.

\----------

The lower levels of Coruscant were her first obstacle course. The jungle is hardly a match for the undercity. Shmi races through it on foot.

Clothes snag on brambles and hair tangles in low branches, but she keeps going.

She is running from something – no, someone. She is not sure who, but she cannot let them catch her.

There is a sharp prodding at her shoulder, “Shmi. Shmi, wake up.”

Shmi sits bolt upright, nearly knocking into Master Seddwia.

Her dream, though vivid while she slept, fades quickly.

She was not excited about the prospect of studying known Republic criminals, but hadn’t expected to actually fall asleep during it.

At least Master Seddwia looks amused rather than mad.

“Having you been getting enough sleep, padawan?”

Shmi doesn’t know why she bothers asking, she’s probably already talked to mom.

No one was surprised when Master Seddwia asked Shmi to be her padawan. They never talked about it, no promises were ever made, like Set and Pres; it was just something everyone always knew would happen because mom and Master Seddwia are so close.

“I’m fine.”

Master Seddwia raises her eyebrow. Shmi wishes the Force didn’t make it so easy to tell if someone was lying, but her master doesn’t say anything.

“Alright. Let us see where you left off before your nap.”

They look at the screen displaying her research.

The face of Antar Jade leers at her. He is misidentified in the records, but from a single glimpse she would recognize him anywhere.

She tries to switch the datafile before Master Seddwia says anything about it.

“This was not the work you were supposed to be doing. Shmi?”

Too late.

“Shmi, why are you researching your grandparents?”

Her temper flares, “I want to go after them! Why do they get to roam free after what they did to us? After what they did to mom!”

Master Seddwia shakes her head, “And what good would going after them do? Would it settle a personal grudge? How would your mother feel about you running straight into a past she would rather was left alone?”

Guilt bubbles right alongside anger. Then she remembers her dream.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell mom or dad?”

Hesitantly Master Seddwia nods.

“I have dreams about them – it’s why I haven’t been sleeping. Always the same dream, I’m running away from them and I want to turn back to face them, but I just can’t,” she hangs her head.

“That is a perfectly natural response. You are angry and confused and hurt, but they cannot hurt you, Shmi. They are a part of your life unknown to you; it is alright to be afraid. Seeking them out is not the answer to dealing with your pain.”

“What is?”

“Time. And love.” Master Seddwia pats her shoulder comfortingly. “This has been a difficult time for your family. You are handling it well. How would you like to have a practice duel?”

Shmi cheers temporarily; Master Seddwia knows what she loves too well. She will heal.

\----------

Days before tryouts, Shmi tinkers with her ship. One wrong move and the fuel line leaks tylium everywhere.

“Shit.”

She grapples to patch it up.

“Need a hand?” Ahsoka slides beneath the fighter beside Shmi and passes her a rag to plug the hole. Examining her handiwork, “What did you do to this ship?”

“I’m streamlining the steering and once I repair the fuel line, there shouldn’t be as much control delay.”

“Where’d you learn that? It certainly wasn’t Luke.”

Shmi shrugs, not that Ahsoka can see the gesture at this angle. “It just made sense to do. It’s so frustrating waiting for the controls to react.”

“You sound like Anakin.”

Shmi nearly lets go of the broken fuel line. It’s so easy to forget how close they once were.

“He used to rig ships like this too.” The nostalgic glint in her eye fades, “You sure Wedge is going to allow this when you go out for Rogue?”

General Antilles was the one who suggested she try out for Rogue Squadron; he even offered to wave the age restriction for her ( _she wouldn’t be flying on rotation immediately anyway_ ).

“That’s why I’m doing this.”

Ahsoka doesn’t miss her unenthusiastic tone, “You don’t seem excited.”

She’s not. Maybe at another time she might have been. She loves flying; it’s in her blood, but her heart hasn’t been in it for a while now. The problem is dad is thrilled, so she can’t turn down the general’s offer.

Gently, “This is about Mara’s parents, isn’t it?”

“Why do they keep coming back?”

She hates how they ruin everything with their presence. She hates how Syrule Jade reappeared just as they were healing from the last time.

She hates how everyone treats her afterwards. They all tread lightly around her as if she’ll fall apart at the slightest sound. Hell, even competing with Dev isn’t the same – letting her win on purpose.

Ahsoka reaches up and takes the fuel line from Shmi. Quietly she repairs the coil.

Relieved of their task, Shmi’s fingers flex idly. She feels useless and off: unable to repair her ship, unable to fly.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go out for Rogue now – I’m too distracted.”

Ahsoka half-chuckles, “I saw Anakin fly at his worst and you’re every bit the flier he was at his best. A little distraction still puts you parsecs above the rest.

“I’m not going to tell you what you should do, but I’d be shocked to discover anything in the galaxy could keep a Skywalker on the ground.”

\----------

“You are now authorized to make combat landings,” the comm grill crackles.

It’s only a practice run, but this is Rogue Squadron. You do not take anything lightly. Even drills. Shmi throws the ignition into full throttle to book it back to the battlecruiser in the allotted time.

With all the other fighters coming in hot it would be all too easy to lose control and cause an accident, but Shmi’s done this hundreds of times. She knows what she’s doing.

She cuts the breaks once she’s in line with the landing strip and glides in, steering around the other pilots.

The thud of the ship on the deck and the creaking of the ship overhead tell her the landing was a success.

Her helmet is barely off, releasing the wild curls, when a familiar scolding is shouted at her from across the docking bay, “Skywalker! You nearly killed me! Again!”

Firing right back, “What the hell else was I supposed to do? You were taking up the whole landing strip with your slow flying, Dahl! It’s not my fault you still can’t get the hang of flying with the Force!”

“I’m just trying to fly casual!” Dev deflects. “Did your spring-head get in the way or did you actually forget that other pilots have got to land too?!”

“You don’t fly cas –”

“Hey!” Both of them turn at the sound of a third voice joining their fight. Myri runs up beside Shmi. “If you want to keep fighting, get off the deck!” Then, much lower, she adds, “There’s an empty room in the back – near the deckhands’ locker.”

Shmi squeezes her friend’s hand and quickly whispers, “Thanks! You’re the best!”

Loudly Dev resumes their argument, “Is every Skywalker a showoff pilot or just you?”

“At least I _can_ fly!”

Ducking beneath the wing of her fighter, Shmi takes off toward the room Myri suggested.

Dev chases her, “You implying I can’t fly?!”

“Well it took you two tries to make the squad!”

The door locks and they waste no time jumping each other. Dev lifts her onto a cluttered worktable then pulls the zipper of her flight suit down to slip his hands beneath her shirt.

“Moving fast enough for you?” he smirks.

Shmi easily liberates the holster from his waist, “You could stand to speed up some more. Who knows how long we’re gonna have this room for.”

“I still can’t believe you told Myri.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my cousins it’s always have a look out.”

Dev shrugs and presses his mouth to her exposed collar. Shmi gasps, relishing in the bliss of their post-flight ritual.

In return she tugs at the ugly orange material, trying to free him from the jumpsuit. She almost regrets it when he has to remove his hands from her to extract his arms, but the results are worth it. Finally both in a state of undress, they double their efforts.

Her fingers tangle in his increasingly shaggy hair; he stopped cropping it after joining Rogue.

Smiling to herself, “You’ve got curly hair too.”

He gapes at her, readying a response, but the loudspeaker crackles to life. “Would Lt. Dahl and Lt. Skywalker report to the briefing room?”

The general’s tone is unmistakably annoyed.

They both sigh heavily; there won’t be time for any more until their rotation is over. Dev moves aside so Shmi can put her feet back on the ground.

“That’s certainly a mood killer.”

Trying not to feel like their time here has been spoiled, “It’ll get easier when we stop sneaking around.”

“And have people think we shouldn’t fight anymore?”

“I highly doubt anyone would expect us to stop fighting.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

He’s a got a few inches on her, but when Dev’s slouched like he is Shmi is able to tower over him. Seductively, “Because you are terrible at flying.”

She toys with the hem of his shirt.

Catching her hand, “Maybe if you weren’t around to distract me…”

He presses the back of her hand to his lips.

Shmi feels her heart flutter; it makes it that much harder to come up with a retort. “Well, you better get used to it because I’m not going anywhere.”

This time the moment is ruined – ruined by another order to report to the briefing room. They part to sit with their respective friends. Shmi sees Dev later during the damage check to her ship. He flashes her a grin from across the deck.

Gods, she hopes her flying doesn’t suffer any from his presence on the squad.

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
